


Restraint

by bluejbird



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Enthusiastic Consent, Light Bondage, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 15:49:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9448838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluejbird/pseuds/bluejbird
Summary: When Rodney wakes up, tied to a chair, he's immediately looking for a way to escape. But his captor is Ronon, who just wants to keep Rodney still long enough to do what he knows they both want.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redandglenda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redandglenda/gifts).



Being regularly knocked out is a unsettling hazard of Rodney’s job. So when he hears an all too familiar  _ zzt _ of a weapon charging, he’s not even surprised to find himself slipping into unconsciousness a few moments later.

Rodney comes to groggily, with aching joints and a complaint ready on his lips just in case he isn’t in an immediately life or death situation. His brain is instantly in gear, running through scenarios about what could have happened, who could have infiltrated Atlantis, how many suicidal rescue missions Sheppard has already launched.

When Rodney opens his eyes, he knows he’s still on Atlantis. In fact, he’s fairly sure he recognises the room. The mattress on the floor, the warrior painting above the bed. It’s unmistakably Ronon’s room. And he’s tied to Ronon’s chair, unable to fight against the bonds that bind him in place.

Why his captors would bring him here is baffling, considering all of the weapons lying around. Unless of course the weapons are why they brought him here. For torture purposes.

Panic bubbles up inside him and he’s about to start shouting for help, when a voice rumbles from behind him.

“You’re awake.”

Relief floods Rodney, dousing the panic at least temporarily. The voice is familiar and reassuring. It’s Ronon.

Ronon, who makes Rodney feel safe. As safe as he feels with Teyla and Sheppard, despite knowing them both for much longer, which is a miracle since Rodney isn’t great with the whole trust thing. 

Ronon, who is fiercely loyal to his team and his adopted home. Ronon, who grunts and growls to get his point across, saving his words as much as Rodney wastes his, letting as many tumble from his lips as he can before needing to take a breath. 

Ronon, who makes Rodney feel. Well. Feelings. Of the romantic and pants-tightening variety. And of the heart wrenching and stomach dropping variety, because Rodney has a bad habit of having feelings for the exact sort of people who wouldn’t even think about returning them. 

But more importantly, Ronon, who will put blaster holes in whoever is holding them captive and take point on their soon-to-be daring escape.

“Oh thank god,” Rodney says, breathing out his relief as a sigh. “Ronon, did you see who brought us here? Are the others okay? What do they want?” He tries to crane his neck to look behind him, but all he succeeds in is giving himself a cramp.

“Ow,” he mutters, wishing he could rub it better. And he wishes he could see Ronon. It would be reassuring, even if Ronon is  tied up.

Then there are footsteps and the panic rises again because there’s someone else in the room and he can see them out of the corner of his eye and–

Ronon steps in front of him. His arms are folded across his chest and he looks...amused, almost. And kind of predatory.

Rodney stares for a moment, then glances frantically around as much of the room as his restraints will allow.

“What’s going on?” he demands. “Why aren’t you tied up too? Oh, no, don’t tell me you’re possessed by some evil alien entity.” Rodney is tired of that. It was cliche the first time it happened, and now it’s just annoying more than anything else. 

“I’m not,” Ronon says. He leans back against the wall, folding his legs comfortably and Rodney hates himself in that moment because for all he knows Atlantis is on the verge of falling and everyone else is dead and Ronon has been brainwashed, and all he can think of is the strip of smooth brown skin that appears as Ronon’s shirt rides up, and how long his legs are.

But...priorities.

“Then what the hell is going on?” Rodney snaps. He struggles against his bonds, hard enough that he thinks he could get a hand free, if he breaks his thumb the way Sheppard had taught him on a mission that none of them like to talk or even think about now. He’s reluctant to do it, but if Ronon’s been compromised, he can’t count on the rest of his team coming to save him either.

He twists his wrist the way he was shown, pulling against the ropes, waiting for the sick crunch he knows is coming.

Ronon figures out what he’s doing, and jerks away from the wall. His eyes are wide in surprise.

“McKay, stop!” he says, moving swiftly to grab Rodney’s wrist and stop him. “Just...calm down.”

Rodney stops his struggling. “I can't calm down until you tell me what’s going on!” 

Ronon moves around in front of him and squats down so they’re eye level. He gives Rodney a considering look, and there’s a flash of something that maybe looks like respect. It’s not something Rodney sees aimed his way often, not from Ronon at least, and he hates himself a little for the way his heart swells a little under Ronon’s gaze. There are more important things to think about than his ego after all. 

“Just once I’d like to get taken prisoner by the sexy alien,” Ronon says.

Rodney blinks at him. “Are you trying to tell me some alien has taken over your body?”

Ronon closes his eyes for a brief moment, as if trying to draw strength, the way Teyla does when Rodney and Sheppard are bickering about something she sees as inconsequential. “No. That’s what you said. Last week, after those travellers kidnapped Sheppard.”

“Oh, right,” Rodney says, remembering Sheppard’s smug face as he’d described the woman who’d kidnapped him. Sheppard really did get all the luck. Rodney had never been lucky enough to be–

“Wait,” he says. “What are you saying?”

Ronon shrugs. “I’m an alien,” he says.

“You are,” Rodney agrees carefully, refusing to let his hopes rise even the slightest amount. Because there is no way that Ronon means what Rodney secretly hopes he means.

“And I’m kinda sexy, right?”

“Is that a trick question? Of course you are. Have you looked in the mirror lately? You have this whole rugged outdoorsy, my-hands-could-kill-you-or-bring-you-great-pleasure thing going on.” 

Rodney clamps his mouth shut, wishing he could take the words back because there’s a good chance they’re going to be used against him, probably after Ronon tells Sheppard what he said, the next time they do their ridiculous macho bonding of running and beating each other up for sport.

But Ronon flashed a toothy, amused grin. “So I’ve taken you prisoner,” he says.

Rodney sighs. “Yes, I can see that. It’s very...nice of you to give me this as bragging rights next time Sheppard is showing off his intergalactic conquests. But what is this? Some kind of training? You’ll let me try to escape, tell me all of the things I’ve done wrong? I’m not really in the mood for impromptu bootcamps and I do have important work to be getting on with, keeping us all alive and the city afloat and whatnot.”

Ronon tilts his head and watches Rodney for a moment, before huffing out a laugh.

“No. What I had in mind was more…”

Ronon trails off and places his hands on Rodney’s knees and nudges them apart, moving to kneel between them.

“What are you doing?” Rodney asks, in a voice that definitely doesn’t squeak.

“What does it look like?”

Ronon’s hands slide up Rodney’s thighs, higher and higher until one hand ghosts across the front of his groin. It makes Rodney suck in a breath, and he’s still not entirely sure what’s happening, but his cock is getting interested incredibly quickly.

Rodney strains against his ropes again, involuntarily this time, and Ronon stills.

“Did I misread the signals?” he asks, moving his hands away, back to Rodney’s knees. “I got the impression that–”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Rodney says. “You definitely got the right impression. I just... are you sure? I mean, you’re not under the influence of some sort of mind altering device are you? I mean, look at you. And look at me.”

“I’ve been looking at you plenty,” Ronon says, and Rodney would blush, except all of his blood is running south.

“Right, well, glad we got that cleared up.” Rodney clears his throat. “Do you want to, uh, untie me and let me...you know.”

“No,” Ronon says. “You’re my prisoner, remember? I don’t plan on letting you go until I get what I want. And as your captor, I get to do whatever I want. To you.”

“Okay,” Rodney says, a little breathless, and also a little wary. “Um, like what?” The nervousness is clearly evident in his face or his tone, or maybe it’s just that Ronon knows him fairly well, because he sits back on his heels and regards Rodney carefully.

“McKay,” he says. “It’s alright. I’m not going to do anything you don’t want. I do something you don’t like, you stop me.”

Rodney snorts. “Stop you,” he says. “Like I said before. Look at you. Then look at me. Add in the ropes and you could do anything you wanted and I wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it.” The words are still flowing out of his mouth when his traitorous body shivers excitedly at the thought.

“I wouldn’t hurt you,” Ronon says, and Rodney knows that, of course, but this isn’t the first time he’s been tied up and his sometimes too logical brain might freak out.

“We can have a safe word,” Rodney suggests. “I dated this geologist once, heavy into BDSM, not really my scene, and she was big on safe words.”

Ronon looks amused. “Fine. A safe word then. You pick.”

Rodney screws up his face, thinking. “Oranges,” he says eventually.

Ronon raises a brow.

“It has to be a word I wouldn’t accidentally say.” Rodney is defensive. “And I’m hardly likely to moan the name of any citrus fruits in a fit of ecstasy, am I?”

Ronon smirks and leans in. “Can we get started now?”

Rodney stares at him, wide eyed. “You really are serious,” he says. There’s a tiny part of him that keeps waiting to wake up in some cold, damp prison to find this is all a wishful dream, or that Ronon really is possessed. But Ronon’s hands on his thighs feel real, and when he looks in Rodney’s eyes it’s clear that Ronon is completely unpossessed and, as far as he can tell, as sane as he usually is. “I mean, yes. Yes please,” Rodney says.

And then Ronon kisses him. Kneeling between Rodney’s legs, they’re about the same height. Ronon kisses hard enough that it pushes Rodney back, causing the chair to tip precariously, and he squawks in surprise against Ronon’s mouth. Then Ronon’s hands press on his thighs, righting the balance, and his tongue slides into Rodney’s mouth. It moves mercilessly against Rodney’s, and he doesn’t fight it. Instead he welcomes the kiss, and tries not to get too turned on by the thought that he’s bound to have beard burn across his chin tomorrow, and that’ll be an awkward conversation to have with Keller when he goes in for some salve to sooth it.

One of Ronon’s hands works its way to Rodney’s fly and undoes it, slipping inside. Ronon’s fingers, calloused and warm, find his cock and stroke in a way that’s more gentle than Rodney would have expected.

Rodney’s hips jerk so much he thinks the bonds tying his ankles to the legs of the chair might snap, and Ronon breaks the kiss to give Rodney a considering look.

“It’s been awhile, okay?” Rodney snaps. “Not to mention that this is really, really hot.”

“Good,” Ronon says, and backs off. Both of his hands work at Rodney’s clothes, encouraging him to lift his hips so that his BDUs and boxers can be slid down to his ankles. The chair itself is kind of cold against Rodney’s bare ass, and he opens his mouth to complain.

But then Ronon opens his mouth and feeds Rodney’s cock into it. And Rodney’s jaw slams closed so hard it rattles his brain. He squeezes his eyes shut as tightly as possible, because this cannot be real, but when he opens his eyes and looks down, there’s Ronon. Cheeks hollowed, dreds brushing against Rodney’s inner thighs as he moves his mouth along the length of Rodney’s cock, taking in more and more and more of him until his nose is pressed against Rodney’s dark curls, and Rodney finds himself lost in the amazing sensation of Ronon’s throat swallowing around him.

Rodney thinks that maybe he hasn’t felt anything better in his entire life, including the time he was so smart he surprised himself, or the time he wrote what would be a Nobel winning series of papers (if everything in them wasn’t completely classified), or that one time when his parents told him they were proud of him.

But this moment, his cock inside the warm, tight wetness of Ronon’s mouth, and Ronon making pleasurable grunting sounds as if he's enjoying himself...this tops all of the other moments. Which probably means things that Rodney is definitely not willing to explore. Things that involve feelings and emotions. But Rodney is science and logic and Ronon is Ronon so it’s probably best he doesn’t go there. At least not right now.

Everything inside Rodney feels like it’s winding tighter and tighter, threatening to snap, and he is so so close that he thinks he should probably warn Ronon.

“I’m gonna–” is all he gets out before Ronon pulls his mouth off Rodney’s cock and backs off.

The cold air hitting his spit-slick cock is enough to calm Rodney, and it loses a little of its hardness as Ronon lets go of it completely. He stands up, and, okay, Rodney gets that not everyone likes to swallow – he’s fairly picky about who he does that with himself – but he’s never had someone actually walk away from him to avoid getting ejaculated on.

Ronon stands up, looking down at Rodney as he smiles. “Like that?”

“Are you stupid?” Rodney snaps. “Of course I liked it. I’d like it more if I could have, you know, finished. It was amazing. And this is amazing torture, leaving me hanging, if that’s what you had in mind.”

Ronon shakes his head, dreds flying, and wow, Rodney really wishes his hands were free so he could grab them, guide Ronon’s mouth back to his cock and finish what they’d started.

“I have something else in mind.”

He pulls a knife from his boot. It glints, wicked and deadly, in the light, and Rodney’s heart jumps into his throat, too many bad memories flashing through his mind. It’s not his fault he’s so suspicious– four years on Atlantis means that he’s still not entirely convinced that Ronon hasn’t been brainwashed and that this isn’t some elaborate ruse to get information out of him. And as far as ruses go, it’s not a bad one. Rodney thinks that if Ronon had asked, he’d have had to fight against every fibre of his being to not reveal his command codes, while his cock was sliding further and further into Ronon’s mouth.

But Ronon just reaches down and cuts the rope holding his feet to the chair. Then he moves behind Rodney. Rodney can feel the vibrations of the knife cutting the binding, and it rubs against the rope burns he’d given himself trying to escape. He feels Ronon’s fingers gently brush against the wound.

“Sorry,” Ronon says, softly. “I didn’t think–”

“What, that I’d try to escape?” Rodney asks. “That I wouldn’t fight the restraints? I thought we’d gotten past underestimating each other.”

Ronon just grunts in response. 

“Don’t. Move,” he orders, and Rodney doesn’t question. He stays put, but brings his hands back in front of him, rolling his shoulders, rubbing at where his forearms had started to go numb.  

He watches Ronon move over to a small chest of drawers. Ronon rummages for a moment then returns with a jar that Rodney recognises as Athosian, some cloth bandages, and some leather straps.

Wordlessly, Ronon smooths some balm over the red marks on Rodney’s wrists, then gently binds them with the bandages. The balm smells sweet and heady, and Rodney remembers that it’s the Athosian one-balm-fixes-all that had made Carson initially suspicious, before he’d seen how useful it was and ordered a large supply. It had pleased Teyla that there was something they’d needed from the Athosians, besides her skills and friendship. Rodney had been skeptical at first, but he had to admit that the balm worked.

“Better?” Ronon asks, and Rodney nods, the sharp pain in his wrists immediately dulling. Meeting his eyes, Ronon lifts first one wrist, then the other, to his mouth, and presses a kiss over the bound wounds. It’s oddly uncharacteristic, and it makes Rodney’s heart flutter in his chest in a way that is much more disturbingly similar to a cardiac event than he’d like.

“What now?” Rodney asks. He tries not to sound too hopeful, but his cock is still semi-hard and he’d quite like to get off, thank you very much. And maybe get the chance to touch Ronon too. He’s caught glimpses of Ronon naked before, but never enough to put a full image together in his mind. And he’s maybe just a little bit curious.

“Now,” Ronon says, picking up one leather strap and buckling it tight around Rodney’s left wrist, “we get to the good stuff.”

“That wasn’t the good stuff before?” Rodney asks in disbelief. “Because it felt really, really good to me.”

He lets Ronon strap the other piece of leather to his right wrist. Even though Ronon tightens them enough that he knows he’ll have some trouble taking them off later without help, the straps loop around his thumbs which takes the pressure off his wounds. 

“Trust me,” Ronon says, and Rodney does. “You’ll like what’s next.”

He unlaces Rodney’s boots and pulls them off, then gets rid of his BDUs, his boxers and socks, so that Rodney is completely stripped from the waist down. Then he unzips Rodney’s jacket and tugs it off, and pulls off his shirt too.

Rodney lets himself be pliant, letting Ronon move him around. Ronon grasps him by the elbow and pulls him to his feet, then guides him towards his bed. It’s covered with a disturbing number of furs that come from wildlife that Rodney has never seen, and, judging by some of the hunting tales Ronon has told over team dinners and long nights by campfires on alien worlds and waiting for rescue or backup in the back of jumpers, he never wants to see either. He lies down when Ronon tells him too, and only protests slightly when Ronon lifts first one, then the other arm, and binds them to ropes attached somehow to the wall. Rodney makes a mental note to check out how it’s attached later, because as they’ve found out by people hammering in picture hooks into the walls, the Ancients were not particularly careful about where they put key control crystals and other highly energy charged items inside their walls. 

With his arms stretched above his head, and being completely naked, Rodney can’t help but feel a little bit vulnerable.

“I’m, uh, feeling a little under dressed here,” he says, and is rewarded with another broad white grin.

“I can fix that,” Ronon says, toeing off his boots and shucking his vest in one easy movement. When his chest is bare, Rodney can’t help but flick his tongue along his too dry lips. Ronon has muscles that Rodney didn’t even know existed, and probably doesn’t even have, and they shift gloriously as he undoes his belt and lets his pants drop to the floor.

Rodney swallows hard.

He’d assumed Ronon’s cock was big. It’s not a terrible assumption– Ronon himself is pretty huge, so it makes sense that his cock would match. But it’s even bigger than he’d expected, and girthier too, and Radek will be incredibly annoying when he finds out he’s won  _ that _ wager also.

“Wow,” he says out loud, feeling a little inadequate in comparison.

Ronon kneels between Rodney’s splayed legs and Rodney tenses.

“Um,” he says, wondering how to broach the subject. He stares up at the ceiling. “The thing is, while I’m no stranger to anal sex, it has been a very, very long time and you are kinda massive and this might be–”

“What are you saying, McKay?”

“Oranges?” Rodney says, and it sounds like a question because he knows he is going to regret saying no to this, regret being such a coward when it comes to a bit of pain even when he knows the payoff would be amazing.

Ronon gives him a long, level look, then opens his clenched palm. Inside is the jar of Athosian balm, and he opens the lid, taking a generous amount on his fingers.

“Ronon,” Rodney says, fear curling low in his stomach, fighting against how incredibly turned on he is. “I, uh, I said the safe word.”

“I know,” Ronon says.

“That means you have to stop,” Rodney squeezes out around the lump in his throat, because he desperately wants to take it back, but at the same time, he’s going to be spending a lot of time sitting at his computer in the morning and he really, really doesn’t want to have a conversation about this with Keller. Or Radek. Or Sam. Or, worst of all, Sheppard.

“This isn’t for you,” Ronon says, and reaches around behind himself.

Rodney is a certified genius. He has two PhDs, a stack of awards that would include multiple Nobels if only he wasn’t in another galaxy doing things most people on Earth could neither know nor comprehend, and his brain has gotten them out of more terrifying situations than he can count. But it still takes him longer than it should to realise what Ronon is doing.

The first clue is when Ronon’s eyes flicker shut and he bites his bottom lip. That’s something Rodney has wanted to do for a very, very long time himself, and if he wasn’t tied in place, he’d have Ronon’s face in his hands, and his tongue in his mouth.

The second clue is that Ronon’s half-hard cock starts getting much harder and much bigger, and Rodney thinks that maybe someday he would like to feel it pulsing inside him, but that day is very much not today. His own cock twitches at the idea, and it’s not until Ronon opens his eyes and smiles, that Rodney figures out what he’s been doing.

“Still oranges?” Ronon asks, moving to straddle Rodney’s hips. He pauses, and Rodney barely manages a strangled “no”. He clears his throat. 

“Nope,” Rodney says, decisively. “No oranges. At all. Nothing citrus if any kind.” He knows he's on the verge of babbling and he swallows down the words, watching Ronon with wide eyes, waiting to see what happens next. 

Ronon gives him an answering grin that is bordering on feral and Rodney is already canting his hips up as Ronon reaches out. 

His hand, slick with balm, grasps the root of Rodney’s cock, guiding it to his entrance. Rodney can feel the slickness there immediately, and the idea of Ronon fingering himself, opening himself up, preparing himself for Rodney’s cock, is so incredibly hot that if Ronon’s grip wasn’t bordering on being too tight, he’d ruin the whole moment and come then and there.

As it is, he has to fight against the desire to come as Ronon slowly lowers himself down, until Rodney is buried inside him.

“Oh my god,” Rodney groans. Ronon is tight and almost too hot to handle. Rodney’s shoulders ache from his hands being tied above his head, but he doesn’t notice the pain as Ronon starts to move. It’s slow and easy at first, Rodney lifting his hips just enough to help out. He looks down the length of his body, watching Ronon ride him, Ronon’s cock bouncing lightly as he moves. Rodney longs to taste it, to run his tongue against the large vein, to fit his lips over the head. He wonders if Ronon will let him, later, to finish him off. He assumes Ronon will need it, unless he plans on jerking himself off as Rodney’s cock slides in and out of his ass. Normally Rodney would be all about helping out, his fingers sliding and grasping and twisting. But they’re out of action, kept away by leather cuffs and rope, and Ronon’s cock is frustratingly out of reach.

Ronon groans, and it’s such a glorious sound that Rodney needs to tell him. The words tumble out of his mouth, an almost senseless babble punctuated by “so hot” and “never thought I’d get to do this” and “holy fuck” and Ronon grunts and presses down harder and then the rhythm picks up.

Ronon rides him faster and faster, and Rodney snaps his hips up, burying himself in Ronon deeper and deeper, harder and harder, the room filling with the sounds of flesh hitting flesh to go with Ronon’s groans and grunts and Rodney’s babbling.

Rodney is so close, so incredibly close, and he’s surprised that Ronon’s hands haven't strayed to his own cock. The next time Rodney lifts his hips to meet Ronon, he twists a little. It’s pure accident, but it must hit just the right spot inside Ronon because his eyes fly open in surprise and he fixes Rodney with a dark needy look as he moans and says, “yeah,” in a deep, guttural voice that hits Rodney right in the groin and in the heart.

It seems impossible that Rodney could do something to cause Ronon to respond like that. But Rodney is used to doing at least three impossible things before breakfast. 

So Rodney twists his hips again, and again, and each time Ronon’s groans get louder and longer and Rodney tries to think of incredibly unsexy things to stop himself from coming and losing the ability to make Ronon sound like that.

The fourth or fifth time he twists his hips, Ronon’s eyes flutter shut and he comes, striping Rodney’s chest and chin. There’s no warning, so Rodney doesn't get a chance to shield his face, and he thinks some even gets in his hair.

Ronon opens his eyes and starts to laugh at Rodney’s surprised expression, but his now slow rhythm of rising and falling on Rodney’s cock doesn’t stop.

The vibrations shudder through his body and he clenches around Rodney and that’s as much as Rodney can take. Pleasure spikes through his body and he comes, hips shuddering up one last time, and then he goes limp.

Ronon eases himself off Rodney’s now limp cock, but stays straddling his waist. He reaches past Rodney’s head to undo the cuffs, rubbing at Rodney’s hands to help get the feeling back. He sits back a little, careful not to rest all of his weight on Rodney’s hips, and digs his fingers into the sore muscles around Rodney’s shoulders.

“That was fun,” Ronon says. “Also you’ve got something…” he swipes a thumb across Rodney’s cheek, catching a tiny splash of come. He grins, looking amused with himself.

“Ha ha,” Rodney says. “I hope you’ve got something here I can use to clean myself up because I can’t walk back to my quarters with your–”

Ronon’s thumb finds Rodney’s lips and presses inside. It shuts Rodney up instantly, and he sucks at Ronon’s thumb savouring the salty taste. Ronon groans again, and Rodney smiles around Ronon’s thumb. He feels Ronon’s cock twitch against his belly, and he sucks again, a little harder.

Then he lets it slip from his lips. 

“Maybe next time–” he starts, then stops. “I mean. Not to be presumptuous. Is there going to be a next time? Was this a one time thing? A pity fuck because I was jokingly jealous of Sheppard’s sexy alien?”

“Not a pity fuck,” Ronon says, and kisses him briefly. “And yeah. There’ll be a next time. If you want.”

“Oh, I want,” Rodney says. “I want very much. Um. When?”

“Whenever. You know where to find me.”

Rodney studies Ronon’s face. Ronon doesn’t give a lot away in his facial expressions, and Rodney isn’t great at reading people at the best of times. But he thinks maybe there’s something too casual about Ronon’s tone. Like he doesn’t want to seem too eager for a repeat.

It’s Rodney’s turn to smirk. “Sure. Maybe I can find you in my quarters tomorrow after dinner.”

Ronon grunts, noncommittally. But the corner of his mouth turns up, like he’s fighting a smile.

Rodney’s about to say something, to tease him further and, in hindsight, probably risk Ronon deciding Rodney is more trouble than he’s worth, when their radios both click on.

“McKay, Ronon, this is Sheppard. I know you’re busy, but we could use your help in the jumper bay.”

Ronon reaches for the radios, neatly sitting side by side near his bed. Rodney snatches his from Ronon’s offering hand.

“You told Sheppard about this?” he hisses at Ronon.

“We’re on our way,” Ronon says into his radio.

“Great,” Sheppard says. “We have a very minor hostage situation going on. One of the scientists seems to have had a bad reaction to some fruit from M7R 843 and they’ve taken one of the Marine’s hostage. We could do with some fire power, and someone to break into the jumper they’re locked inside.”

“Is it Parrish?” Rodney demands into his radio. “Because I’ve told him a dozen times not to eat strange things he finds, and you’d think as a botanist he’d know better and–”

“Just get here as soon as you can, Rodney,” Sheppard says, and the radios click again.

Rodney turns to Ronon who is already on his feet, gathering his clothes.

“You told Sheppard about this?” Rodney repeats, scrambling to his feet. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror at one side of the room and makes a face. There’s drying come on his chest and face and in his hair, and he looks well and truly fucked. Ronon, of course, looks cool and calm as always.

Ronon disappears into the bathroom and comes back with a wet washcloth.

“I told him we were working out,” he says. “That’s all.”

Rodney cleans himself quickly as best he can and rolls his eyes. “Working out? Is that what you’d call it?”

“Did you work up a sweat?” Ronon asks, tossing Rodney his shirt. “Then it’s a work out.”

Rodney opens his mouth to argue, but he can’t. Instead he pulls on his BDUs and hops around trying to do up his shoelace while looking for his jacket.

“Come on,” Ronon says, checking his weapon and setting it to stun. Rodney, having been on the receiving end of it only a few hours earlier, doesn’t envy whoever Ronon will use it on. He doubts they’ll wake up to something as enjoyable as he had.

The thought makes him stop. “Um,” he says, snapping his fingers to buy himself some time as he thinks of how to delicately put it. “Do you, uh, work out with a lot of people?”

“Yeah,” Ronon says, opening the door to his quarters. “Sheppard. Teyla. Some of the marines. A couple of the scientists. Carter.”

Rodney practically feels his eyes bulge as he stares at him. His jaw drops and he doesn’t know what to say.

“But like this?” Ronon continues. “This...only with you. That okay?”

Rodney lets out a massive sigh of relief. “Yeah,” he says. “That’s is very, very much okay. Great. So. That’s good to know and...we should probably get to the jumper bay.”

“Right behind you,” Ronon says. And if his hand rests a little lower on Rodney’s back than normal as he guides him out of his room, and if Rodney leans into the touch a little, there’s luckily no one around to see them. 


End file.
